Roman Holiday
by AmeliaFaulks
Summary: Lois and Clark and their triangle built for two.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I'm a big fan of the Lois/Superman/Clark love triangle of Superman lore. This stage of Clark and Lois's relationship is so wonderfully fraught with double-meaning, and hidden agendas, and subtext. With this story I wanted to have a bit of a poke and a prod at its expense. The story is set in the ill-defined hinterland between the first movies of the movieverse and the events of Returns, although it's something of an homage to things like LnC, the Animated Series, and, latterly, (huzzah!) Smallville, in that the episodic nature of those shows allows the triangle to breathe in a way the movieverse doesn't.

It's a straightforward two-parter and the second part should be up very shortly. I had enormous fun writing it. As ever, I hope you enjoy it too.

**Disclaimer: **These characters are not mine, I just borrow them off DC for fun!

* * *

**Roman Holiday **

**Part I**

He waited until the sun had dipped below the skyline and he was hidden by darkness before he began to work his way down to her floor. City noises carried up from the street- the disharmony of car engines push and pulling away, vendors closing up and going home, in the distance, police sirens. It was a warm, moonless, evening and she had left her window open on the latch. A summer breeze tugged gently across him and stirred the drapes which only half-covered the scene inside the apartment. It had been a while since he'd last done this, and the harness felt tight. He concentrated and kept very still.

He watched. Marvin Gaye was starting up on the stereo as she came back into view slinking towards her bedroom mirror. Let's Get It On. She dipped and moved in time to the sliding wah-wah notes of the melody. She had changed again. This time out she was wearing a long silk robe so it was impossible to tell what was underneath. With her hips swaying side to side and her thick, dark brown hair down, and tumbling over her shoulders, she was quite a sight. He smiled a greedy, nicotine-stained, grin.

Empty boxes, pieces of tissue wrapping and more items of clothing were strewn carelessly over the floor and the end of the bed. She'd had a busy day, he recognized the labels of the big name stores and brands on the oversize shopping bags; Prada, and Zara, and Kiki's on Sixth. And Victoria's Secret, of course.

And there was one bag from somewhere called 'Bedside Manners'.

She stopped just in front of her reflection, lifted her chin and inhaled deeply through the nose. "Smells good, doesn't it?" Long lashes flickered open. "It's my own special recipe. Perhaps you'd like to come inside and try it?"

Her hands hovered at the tie of the robe and he felt himself holding in his breath. One delicate tug and the robe came loose. The smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. Well, well. A pale pink negligée trimmed with black lace. And those legs. Jesus. They went on forever. He lifted the camera, finger working silently on the shutter. He was only here because Eddie was better suited for grunt work and Kent's apartment had been empty.

Sometimes, you just luck out.

**---**

Two hundred years ago, when the house was new and full of dinner guests, Solomon Zebediah Wayne would repair to this room so that the men could talk, and smoke tobacco, and drink cognac out of tulip-shaped glasses.

Now the great fireplace remained dark and unlit. Instead, long bar room lamps hung low illuminating the leaf-green surface of a large pool table, an oak-paneled countertop with taps had been installed, and, underneath, shiny refrigeration units stocked ice-cold bottles of beer.

But Solomon's great-great-great grandson used the room for much the same purpose.

"A Caesar shift?" Bruce took one swig and set his bottle on the mantelpiece again. "Old school."

"It completely passed me by. I was all for running DES variations. Lois noticed the pattern."

Bruce eyed his friend. "Lois, huh?"

Clark wasn't looking at him. In flannel shirt and jeans, he was leaning against the bar, one leg crossed over the other. His cue stick rested in the crook of his folded arms. "She's good with numbers," Clark said. "Like, Rainman good. Faces and numbers." He smiled to himself, "She says it's an army thing." He shrugged, "Anyway. It wasn't the code that was the problem. That was just the start. We were sat at our desks until it started to get light again, running different number combinations through _MapServe _for crying out loud." He shook his head. "Talk about a needle in a haystack."

Bruce lined up a shot. "Yeah, I'm sure it was a real chore." His elbow flicked and the blue two disappeared into the corner pocket. He drew himself back up and Clark watched him move around the edge of the table. "You and the lovely Miss Lane... Working late at the office... The wee small hours of the morning... Together..." As Bruce leaned forward to make a bridge with his hand he didn't quite Groucho Marx his eyebrows but the implication was apparent regardless; "_Alone_."

He missed the shot. Clark just sighed. "I think she said two things to me that were non-work related all night; 'No milk, no sugar, right?'" One of Clark's eyebrows lifted, "Which is actually wrong." He exchanged places with Bruce at the table. "And 'I have to go pee.'" He bent forward. A carefully judged banked shot rolled the striped red ball into the opposing center pocket. "Romance was truly in the air."

Grinning, Bruce took a sip then dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "So what happens next?"

"The story?" Clark straightened. "She wants to find out if we're right."

"What are you going to do? Batter the door down and raid the place?"

Clark eyed Bruce with a wary smile, "If she had her way." The butt of his pool cue tapped at the floor. His index finger pointed. "There's a another unit right next door. Empty. We're going to set up a listening post. Strictly surveillance."

While Clark positioned himself for another shot, Bruce rubbed at the back of his neck. "You're playing a very dangerous game, my friend." He tilted the tip of his cue to point it at Clark. "From what I hear, these guys aren't smalltime."

Clark turned to him. "You hear anything else?"

"That they have friends in high places." Bruce tilted his head. "Or low, depending on your point of view, I guess."

Clark's eyes narrowed. "Luthor?"

Bruce shrugged.

"I never would have pegged him for drug running."

"It's a bear market, Clark. People follow the money."

Clark chucked one cheek philosophically. "I guess jail-time isn't the obstacle it once was to pursuing one's dreams of megalomaniacal criminality."

They switched places again. "People follow the money."

Clark rocked on his heels. "Do you think we should back off?"

Bruce was thoughtful. He leaned against his pool cue. "Just don't let her get into anything too dangerous."

Clark fixed a noncommittal gaze back at his friend. "That's some great advice, Bruce. Really helpful. What are you going to ask me to do next? Thread sunlight into gold? Catch a moonbeam?"

Bruce absently scratched at the five o'clock shadow on his cheek. In sympathy, he mused, "I guess she does strike me as kind of single-minded."

"She's-" Clark broke off. A dreamy look had stolen, unbidden, into his eyes. He blew out a breath and returned to the room, "Like no one I ever met."

From his position, low on the table, Bruce growled, "She's a total fox, that's what she is."

Clark was shaking his head.

Another ball disappeared out of sight. "So!" Bruce chirruped. Dropping his voice, he maneuvred himself to try and tee up a particularly tricky angle. "Have you kissed her yet?"

Clark shifted weight one foot to the other. "Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" Bruce swung his elbow loose, concentrating, shadowing the stroke before playing it.

"Well. It's complicated."

Bruce made the shot and straightened himself back up. "Nah, it's easy." He pointed to his mouth. "You just kind of pucker your lips and lean forward."

Clark smirked. "You're very funny."

Bruce was grinning widely. He bent down over the next shot. To himself, he said, "You haven't kissed her."

"You have an unhealthy interest in my love life."

Bruce's eyebrows lifted. He muttered, "Seems to me like 'love life' might be overstating your case a tad, pal."

Clark had picked up his beer. He swilled the bottle in his hand. "There's been a couple of near misses."

Bruce's eyes rolled. "We're not talking about target practice here, Clark." He stood up, "Have you kissed her yet or not?"

Clark's shoulders rolled. Eventually, he grudged, "Clark got a peck on the cheek at Christmas."

Bruce frowned. "What did Superman get?"

Clark's lips rolled inwards.

"Not even a hug?"

"It's not funny, Bruce."

Amused but apologetic, Bruce picked up his beer and gestured at Clark with it before taking a drink, "I thought she was really into you?"

"She is," Clark insisted. "I think," he added with less conviction. Looking skywards he let out a frustrated sigh. "It's me."

"This dual identity _drama_," Bruce said without sympathy. "Stop being such a girl. You like her so much. Why hold back? Sweep her off her feet."

Clark looked unimpressed with his friend's call-to-arms. "As Superman."

"If that's what she wants."

"Without telling her?" Clark asked, pointedly.

"Without telling her what?"

There was a note of exasperation in Clark's reply; "That I'm Clark!"

"Why not?"

Clark lifted a hand that fell limply to his side again. "It just feels gratuitous." He looked pained. "It'd be like I'm lying to her."

"You're already lying to her. On a round-the-clock basis."

Clark scowled. "That's different."

Bruce laughed, "How?"

"Lois not knowing certain things- it keeps her safe. To circumvent all that, just for the sake of... Of..." Clark cast around the room.

"Sex?" Bruce finished helpfully.

He was treated to a stern look. "_Intimacy_." Clark paused. "It takes it to a whole new level of untruthfulness."

Bruce looked pleased with himself, "What am I always telling you? There are _degrees_ of deceit."

"Your seal of approval on moral matters," Clark despaired. "Just what I need."

"Hey." Bruce raised one finger. "This distance you choose to put between who you really are and how Lois sees you- that's up to you." He stopped. "And no offense taken."

"But that's just it." Clark pointed at himself, "The guy in tights who gets to hold her in his arms is no more real than the guy in glasses who gets to hold her _coat_. She's falling for a version of me that doesn't really exist."

Bruce was unmoved. "Your rock-and-a-hard-place life sucks. Is that what you want me to say?"

"I'm telling you how it is, that's all."

"Look. The way I see it, there's one of two ways this plays out." The look in Clark's eyes silenced him.

"There're no take-backs, Bruce. Once she knows, she knows." Clark's eyes dropped to the floor. "It's a hell of a burden to ask someone to carry." He shuffled his feet. "I'm just not sure she's ready for that conversation."

"Maybe you're the one that's not ready."

Clark gave a hollow laugh. He smiled sadly, "You're probably right."

They were quiet. Bruce lowered to the table again for a long shot right next to the rail.

"What would you do? If you were in my position." Clark looked up. "Would you tell her?"

"God, no." With a satisfying plunk Bruce connected with the cue ball. They both watched the number four disappear into the far right pocket. Clark nodded.

Bruce said, "But then I've never been in love."

A high-pitched trilling interrupted them. Clark picked up his cell phone from where he had left it over on the counter. "It's work."

"On a Saturday night? I didn't know you were expected in?"

"I'm not." Clark flipped it open and read the message. "Mr White wants to see me." He frowned. "He wants me to bring an overnight bag?"

Leaning against the table Bruce watched his friend pull on his jacket. "You were there this morning until dawn- now your boss wants you to sleep at your desks. That's pretty hardcore." Bruce's mouth upturned, "I like his management style."

Clark was uneasy. "Something's up."

"One day maybe we'll get to finish a game before you have to go rushing out of a window."

Clark snorted. "One day maybe I'll get to finish _my lunch_ before I have to go rushing out of a window." He patted at his jacket, "What did I do with my glasses?"

Bruce pointed at the counter a little further along where a pair of thick black frames were folded. "Clark."

Clark stopped.

"Maybe you do have to distance yourself as Superman. But maybe as Clark it can work the other way?"

Clark looked at Bruce and laughed.

"What?"

"The way she looks at me when I'm Superman..." His eyes widened, "Well. It's definitely not the way she looks at Clark."

"She sees precisely what you're willing to show her." Bruce lifted one shoulder. "You can't blame her for that."

"I don't." Clark smiled. He lifted his glasses. In a lighter tone, he said, "Maybe if my alter ego was disgustingly rich, this would be easier?"

Bruce opened his arms to the room, "You want to trade?"

Clark looked around. "Sure. Do I get to keep the Ferrari?"

"Sure. Do I get to keep Lois?"

Clark chuckled and told him it was a nice try.

"I'll throw in the pool table."

Clark gracefully demurred. "I haven't got anywhere to put it anyway." He threw back his cue for Bruce to catch. With one in each hand Bruce rested them against the floor like skiing poles. Clark was at one of the large portico windows when Bruce called him back. He turned and they looked at each other. "This thing with the two of you." Bruce blinked. "Maybe it just needs time."

An appreciative smile curled one corner of Clark's mouth before disappearing again. "To be totally honest, aside from everything else, we're colleagues." He looked off to one side and then back at Bruce. "Even if Clark stood a chance with her," he sighed heavily, "right now I think it's important to respect those workplace boundaries." Earnestness settled on Clark's face. "I really value our professional relationship."

**---**

"Golly," Clark whispered. His tone was soft and full of studied innocence. "Are those ...garters?"

He and Lois had leaned forward in their chairs to inspect a set of black and white prints fanned out in front of them. The photographs were eight by ten candids of a beautiful woman striking a variety of come hither poses in her bedroom mirror. The woman was not wearing very much in any of the pictures. And what she was wearing was rather racy. The color of Lois's cheeks reddened in sympathy with the movement of her eyes across the gallery as each fresh indignity revealed itself.

Lois snatched the photographs up as Clark adjusted his glasses which had slipped a little on his nose. "_Where_," she strangled out, not just embarrassed but _appalled_, "did you get these?"

Opposite them Perry White sat with his fingers folded and a severe expression on his face. He was wearing a golf shirt and a patterned sweater that softened his usual edges and made him seem very grandfatherly. "Not where;" his seriousness was incongruous and therefore disconcerting, "who." He explained, "They were in an envelope addressed to me. I found it on my doorstep an hour ago. With this."

Clark picked up the calling card Perry had slipped across. It was blank on one side. On the other there was a handwritten note. Out loud, Clark read, "'Cutting short our stay. I'm sure you understand'." Clark shared a look with Lois, "Signed 'the Scarlet Pimpernel.'"

Lois was recovered enough to channel her horror into anger. "That rat."

Perry was nonplussed. "The Scarlet Pimpernel? I don't get it?"

"The drug running bust we've been working on."

Perry eyed Lois, "The cocaine?"

She nodded. "Last night we think we finally cracked the radio code they've been using. Lots of references to clearing out by the end of the month and making sure the shipment's ready."

Clark elaborated, "A shipment they refer to only as _'French_ cheese.'"

"Ah," Perry grunted.

"We fed a bunch of decoded numbers into the computer," Lois said. "There were a lot of dead ends but one sequence kept repeating."

"For a grid reference. It matched a location on the waterfront, a warehouse down on Pier seventeen. We checked with the records." Clark shook his head, "There's no paper trail. That lot's supposed to be vacant."

Perry nodded. He opened his hands off the table, "So you put the squeeze on and now they know you're sniffing around. They've obviously been watching you." He crooked a finger at the photographs Lois was clutching. "Who knows how long they've been sitting on these?"

Lois looked agitated, "No, they know we're close. And now they're trying to scare us off."

Perry stared at her. "This isn't a game. My sister's grandkids are visiting. They could have found those."

Careful to keep the developed side of the prints away from sight, she held them up, "They've not been keeping these back, Chief." Her lips pursed as she hesitated. "These were taken tonight."

Clark's head snapped. "Tonight?"

Lois found herself shifting under his unusually direct attention. Although she was now dressed more formally in jeans and a zipped up leather jacket, for a moment she was half-naked again. She turned to Perry, "If they're moving their plans forward we don't have much time. We have to do something."

Perry was silent. He seemed to look right through her, Then he said, "No. It's over."

Lois picked up the card, "But they're playing into our hands."

"No." Perry said, curtly. "This was a warning." He switched focus. "Find something else." He addressed Clark, "Kent, how's the angle on the baby pandas coming?"

Clark's eyes darted between Lois and his editor. "Well, I..."

"Wait," Lois's hand was raised. "I don't understand." Her forehead creased. "You're pulling us off the story?"

"I'm not going to fight you on this."

Her face opened, "Oh, is that how it works, now? Things start to get a little sticky and you hide us away?" She stubbed her finger at him, "So much for the duty of the fourth estate! Edmund Burke would be rolling in his grave."

Perry stared at her. "Please don't quote chapter and verse at me, Lois. I don't know how you think I can care about that when your safety's at stake?"

Lois puffed a breathful of air out the side of her mouth, "They're bluffing."

Perry gestured at the prints in her hands, "Have you even looked at those pictures? They weren't taken with a telephoto lens. Whoever took them-"

"-Must've been right outside your window," Clark finished, quietly horrified. He cursed himself for being in Gotham.

"Let's just be thankful it wasn't a bullet."

"I don't need a lecture, Perry."

"Yes, Lois, sometimes you do."

In answer she just folded her arms.

"Edmund Burke!" Perry scoffed. "Drug lords, and gangsters," he said, exasperated with her. "Stopping them is the duty of the police. Not the press."

"The Daily Planet; putting the investigative in investigative journalism."

Perry's eyes narrowed. "Don't get cute with me. This isn't a joke."

"It IS a joke," Lois slapped her hands hard on the arms of her chair. "'The _Scarlet Pimpernel'_? This guy's laughing in our faces."

"Let him laugh. You can't win every time."

"Yes, you can," Lois shot back, eyes burning, "you've just got to _want _it."

An obvious impasse had been reached. Perry tossed a look at Clark. "Will you talk some sense into her, please?"

Remembering Bruce's warning, Clark took a breath. "Mr White's got a point, Lois."

Her head rotated slowly in his direction, "Well, gee, _partner. _Thanks for backing me up."

Doing his best to ignore the archness of her tone, Clark suggested following Perry's advice that they contact the appropriate authorities.

"Who?" Lois spat. "The cops? The Feds? The CBP? And what are we going to tell them, exactly? That we've got radio reports that a major contraband deal's about to go down? The illegal exportation of_ Camembert_?"

Both Clark and Perry looked sheepish.

She slumped back. "We've got nothing. And now we're going to stand by, and let this scumbag slip through our fingers."

"Stop reacting emotionally and think." Perry pressed his fingertips to his chin. "This is a long game."

"Stop dressing it up!" Lois thundered, fluttering the photographs. "This is kowtowing to the demands of a bully."

"We're not in the schoolyard."

"I don't care where we are, it stinks."

For a moment Perry just sat back, saying nothing and looking grim. Then from a desk drawer he produced two keys and placed them in front of his reporters. A red plastic fob on the ring of each key was shaped like a love heart.

"Don't tell me," Lois said. "Polly Pocket's got a grudge and now we're being warned off the children's treasurebox racket, too."

Perry regarded his reporters dispassionately. "You both remembered to pack your toothbrushes, right?"

Lois let out a weary sigh. "I don't believe this." She extended her arm and picked up one of the keys, turning over the fob in her hand. "'Lucky Hearts Lodge'?"

At her dead-eyed expression and Clark's raised eyebrow, Perry said, "Just for tonight. Just in case. You're staying out of the city."

Lois blinked at him. "You can't be serious?"

"Exit twelve. That's the turning before Fulton Park." To Lois's stony-faced disgust, Perry went on, "Single rooms. Double beds, air-conditioning, and cable tv. And a complimentary continental-style breakfast." Perry touched his lips together. He addressed Lois, "If you're going to sulk, you can at least sulk somewhere safe."

"You _are_ serious."

Perry smiled tiredly. "Take one of the news trucks. I have one waiting for you."

For a few moments more they eyeballed each other. Then Lois nodded. Her palms came up and twirled in the air. "Fine."

Perry squinted. "Good."

Lois got up to leave, taking her photographs and her room key with her. Perry watched her. "Stay out of the city tonight. I mean it, Lois."

Clark got up to follow her out the door. "Kent." Perry held his gaze. "You better keep an eye on her."

Perry swore he heard the young man mutter 'Moonbeams' before the office door closed shut.

---

Charitably, Clark preferred to think of Lois's driving habits as 'eccentric' and 'quaint' as opposed to erratic or dangerous, which is how colleagues who had ever shared a journey of any meaningful length with her tended to describe them. They were barely out of sight of the Daily Planet building when, without warning, she veered the truck into a side alley and killed the engine.

With both hands gripping the wheel she turned to him, "Okay, Kent. Any bright ideas?"

Clark's eyes darted. "About what?"

"About how to contact Superman." Lois chewed at her bottom lip, fretting idly at herself as she stared out the windshield, "I think he's our only hope."

Clark's thoughts about the situation had been working along strikingly similar lines. The crucial difference being that his immediate problem was not one of meeting Lois. Rather- it was one of getting away.

"What do you usually do?"

Lois leaned back. "What do I do when?"

Clark nudged his head. "When you, you know. Want to see him."

Lois shifted in the seat. Clark thought she looked a little embarrassed, and it shamed him. She gave a helpless shrug, "I guess I kind of wait around somewhere visible. Sometimes he shows up. There's not really a pattern to it." After some thought, she added, "Unless I'm in some kind of immediate danger- then he's pretty reliable."

"Okay then," Clark nodded in encouragement. "How do you contact him when you're in immediate danger?"

"I don't know. I yell really loudly?" Clark watched her eyebrows knit together. "We really need a better system."

While they both digested this thought, the sound of sirens not more than a couple of blocks away disturbed Clark's attention and instinctively he turned to his window to identify their direction.

"Do you think we should go and find a roof?"

Definitely police sirens. Now being joined by the lower two-tone sound of a fire truck. Clark refocused his hearing and caught a back-and-forth between one of the units and control; evidently there had been some kind of multi-vehicle accident at an intersection.

"Clark?" Lois found herself looking at the back of her partner's immaculately combed head.

"Mmm?"

She dipped her head to try and establish eye contact. "Do you think we should go and find a roof?"

Finally he turned back round. "You know what? It's the darnedest thing. I just remembered, I forgot to pack my eye drops."

Lois tipped her chin. "I beg your pardon?"

Clark pointed at his glasses. "I forgot to pack my eye drops."

Her hands opened on the wheel as she shook her head, "And?"

Clark's pointed finger, still hanging in the air, tucked itself away to be replaced by a thumb. "I better go get them."

Lois stared. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Um. No?"

Her fingers flickered between them. "We're talking about busting the biggest trafficking scam this city's ever seen- and you're worried about _eye drops_?"

Clark noted that it was not so much disgust that had written itself across Lois's face, as it was a look of total incredulity that this pathetic creature sat before her was somehow ever capable of passing himself off as a worthy counterpart in their partnership. He forged on, "I suffer from a chronic corneal condition, Lois. Dry eye is more common than you think- and can be quite debilitating."

"I'm sure it is, Clark, and I'm sorry to hear that, I really am." She snorted, "But priorities are priorities and I'm also sure you can tough it out until we've done our jobs and stopped this deal going through."

Anxious to be elsewhere, impatience crept into Clark's tone. "I really think we should listen to Perry on this one. Stopping this deal does not fall under the remit of doing our jobs."

"But running away to spend the night in a motel like a couple of fugitives does?"

Briefly, a hard look crossed Clark's eyes, and it was gone before Lois could tell whether it had ever been really there. "I'll go get my eye drops." His tone was conciliatory but uncompromising. He opened the car door but didn't get out. "I'll be right behind you, an hour, tops. I'll catch a cab from my place and meet you back at the motel."

"What about Superman?"

"He keeps his eyes and ears open, Lois. We can't be certain that he's oblivious to this, he might even be handling it without us even knowing about it?"

"_How_ will he know?" Lois pleaded. "We broke a code and we didn't even know we were right until someone sent a poison pen letter?" She sighed.

"I'm sorry, I have to go." Clark opened the door out and hopped down. Before moving away to close it he fished inside his wallet and reached inside the cabin with a couple of twenties.

She regarded his outstretched hand. "What's this?"

"Dinner from Pepe's. My treat." He tried out a smile on her. "I'll have my usual."

When she showed no sign of entering into the spirit of the thing or, indeed, having even heard him, Clark added, "The Italian Supreme, extra mushrooms."

Lois was just looking at the notes in his fingers.

"Unless you're not in the mood for pizza?"

"No." Moodily, she took the money.

"I'll get a cab- I'll see you back at the motel. Right?"

Again, she didn't answer.

"Lois? With the extra mushrooms." His eyes back-and-forthed over her own. More forcefully, he prompted, "Right?"

She fluttered into action, "Right! Yes. God."

He lingered at the door, well aware what was on her mind. "I'm trusting you not to do anything stupid."

Without looking at him, she listed sidewards to tuck the bills into her jeans pocket. "Go get your eye drops."

As soon as it was safe he was in the air and gone. Below him, he heard her restart the engine.

---

Lois flicked her wrist and cut out the engine. According to the streetmap now folded out on the passenger seat, the warehouse would be a brisk five-minute walk from her current position- the backlot of a row of corrugated iron buildings that were set back from the dockside between Piers twenty and twenty-one. Memorizing her route she slipped out of the cabin and went to open the rear doors of the truck. By the orange glow of the lot's security lights, she zipped open the front compartment of her travel case and took out her pocketknife and her dictaphone, depositing them both into the inside pocket of her jacket. From her back pocket she pulled her cell phone and switched it to silent.

She closed and locked up the truck and headed northwards in the direction of Pier seventeen.

**---**

In darkness, it was tricky to scope the place out, but if the buildings along this part of the waterfront were uniform Lois at least had some idea of the lay of the land. If she was right, there was a small access point, a side door, situated towards the rear of the warehouse. From her vantage point tight against the wall of the neighboring warehouse she could see only the front access point; a large steel shutter. A thin halo of yellow light framed the shutter. Lois shook her head. _Empty lot, my ass._

She was about to break her cover and make for the side door when, from that direction, a figure stepped into the light. She retreated backwards. He was a lanky-looking guy, pale-faced in the gloom with a cigarette poking from his lips and a lighter held up to his face. The Pimpernel himself? Lois checked out his all-black outfit and greasy hair pulled tight into a ponytail. He looked more like a roadie than a master criminal. But if he turned his head ninety degrees and looked carefully he would see her. Still and calm, Lois pressed herself flat against the brickwork. The man turned in the opposite direction, out of the wind, away from her, and Lois took her chance. She darted into sight and then back into shadow again, down the walkway between the two buildings until she reached the door.

There was no handle, but the door had been left ajar. Without opening it any further she peered inside and could make out a dimly lit corridor. There appeared to be no one else around. She checked her watch, hesitating at the threshold as a hot, guilty thought snaked through her mind- it had been well over thirty minutes since she had last seen Clark. He was probably on his way out of the city right now. She steeled herself against her second-guessing; now was not the time for equivocation. With a last look back she licked her lips and slipped inside.

---

Although it had involved several vehicles, a hydrant, and a streetlight that now looked like it was bending over to pick something off the sidewalk, the car accident carried no fatalities. Clark had been required to help the rescue team free a husband and wife trapped inside their sedan, but none of the passengers needed superspeeding for immediate hospital treatment. After making a couple of trips to a wreckage yard to clear the scene of debris, Clark shook hands with the paramedics and some familiar faces on the fire crew and took off for the waterfront.

---

The corridor was about thirty feet long before it bent round a corner at the opposite end. It was lined on the right hand side by a set of four doors, each protected by a keycard lock. The doors looked odd. They were shiny but dull, like they were made out of metal. On her left, there was some kind of partition wall. In contrast to the doors, the wall did not seem very thick and through it Lois could hear lots of activity on the other side- what would be the main floor of the warehouse. She could hear voices. It made her heart race. She knew this part of the job, this excessive flirtation with danger, was what drove Clark, and Perry, and Superman- maybe _especially_ Superman- crazy. Her sister called it her reckless streak. The truth was it was times like this, when she could hear the blood rushing in her ears, that got her up in the mornings. And reckless streak or not, it was calculated gambles like this that got her the headlines. She relished it. She tried her luck with every door, already envisioning tomorrow's front page in her head; 'Metropolis Drug Ring Blown Wide Open'. Behind the first door there was a small washroom. To her increasing disappointment, the next two doors were also unlocked, but the rooms inside were completely empty.

She reached the final door on the corridor and fully expected the handle to make way. It didn't, the dot of light on the card panel remained stubbornly red. She zipped open her jacket and brought out the pocketknife. She flipped out the smallest blade and artfully worked its edge up and down the door jam until the inner mechanism _shisked _open and the light blinked green.

This time the room beyond was not empty. It looked like a regular office- a large filing cabinet occupied one corner and a desk with a metal-frame chair was up against a wall. There was no computer or laptop on the desk, only paperwork scattered haphazardly across the surface. And a pair of nautical dividers. She squinted. And what looked like maps. Pages and pages of maps.

Silently, without turning on any lights, Lois lifted the chair out from under the desk and tipped it onto its back legs to secure the door handle in position. She paused at the door and listened. Nothing.

Back over at the desk, she opened her phone and used the screen like a flashlight. Inspecting the maps she found they were not maps at all but charts. She picked through a pile, her eyes scanning them looking for something recognizable, but they were incomprehensible to her- image after image of great swathes of Atlantic ocean numbered and squared by lines of longitude and latitude. She frowned. About as damning as a road map.

She put her phone down and started to gather the charts up into a roll. At the bottom of the pile there was a larger chart. She stopped. This one had been marked with the tell tale straight lines and angles of a navigation course. Lois grinned. _Bingo_.

---

In the air above the warehouse, Clark hovered, his cape rippling on a sea breeze. He was sure this was the right place. Yet below him he could see nothing. If there was drug smuggling about to occur, he couldn't tell. He swept his gaze left and right. Well, this was interesting. His x-ray vision worked perfectly on the buildings either side, just not on the warehouse directly underneath. Lead-lined roofing was not suspicious in and of itself- entire streets in Metropolis carried it. But to have one warehouse in particular, the only one amongst a complex of otherwise identically constructed buildings, be the odd one out- that was a concern.

Just then something else caught his eye. Visible, away to his left, in a deserted corner of a lot southwards down the pierside, was the distinctive white roof of a Daily Planet news truck.

He wished he were surprised. "_Damn_ it, Lois."

**---**

Shining her phone, Lois followed the dotted line out of Metropolis Bay and into open water with her finger. The end point, the destination, seemed to be somewhere way out at sea, well outside international waters. In handwritten script a name and a set of co-ordinates had been noted. She retrieved her dictaphone from her jacket and brought it close to her mouth to whisper; "Petroco Eleutherius. Forty, forty-nine, fifty-eight, point six, four, three, nine, north. Sixty-seven, seventeen, zero-seven, point zero, nine, two-."

Noises close by had her suddenly holding her breath. She remained in position, bent over the desk, dictaphone and cell in hand, perfectly still. Footsteps and then two voices; one much deeper in tone than the other. They seemed to be in conversation right outside the door. Lois could hear her heart thumping against her chest. She tucked the dictaphone as well as her cell back inside her jacket but took out the pocketknife and slipped it down the front of her shirt. The murmur of conversation ended and then one pair of footsteps walked away. She dared not move.

Out in the corridor, Eddie had run into Gooch returning from his cigarette break. By chance, Eddie had been on the way to use the bathroom and it was debatable whether he would've noticed the green light on the card panel at all if he hadn't stopped to talk with the other man and been stood in that particular spot. Puzzled, Eddie looked back over his shoulder in the direction the other man had just gone. If Gooch was now with Farlowe loading the crates then this room shouldn't be in use at all.

He reached to open the door and was irritated rather than alarmed when the handle failed to turn. Hitching his pants at the waist he stuck his large fist into his back pocket and brought out a small plastic card. He swiped the card through the slot and the light blinked green but still the door wouldn't open. He cursed and bent down. Adjusting his huge aviator glasses to get a better look he could see no obvious reason why the mechanism should not work. He tried swiping the card again and then a third time. The fourth time he dispensed with the services of the card and used both hands and his shoulder to apply pressure to the door. Then he stopped short, thinking he could hear movement; the sound of something heavy being dragged.

"Hey, is someone in there?"

It was the man with the low voice. Lois watched the door handle rattle again. With the chair barely holding its own, she was just beginning to panic. Her lack of an exit strategy as such was casting fresh doubt on the viability of making tomorrow's front page afterall. Sacrificing stealth for safety she had managed to wedge herself between the filing cabinet and the wall and was now off the floor and using both feet to push the thing backwards against the door.

"Hey! Who's in there?"

Inside the room, the cabinet's effect as added weight in bolstering the door could not be considered a total success as it bounced forward every time the man on the other side made a new attempt to force the door open. She juddered with it as the hits became harder.

Lois looked around. There were no windows, there were no ceiling panels, there were no air vents. There was no obvious way out, and there was nowhere to hide.

_Crap_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

For a second, on the rebound, the man swayed but still remained upright. Then his legs buckled underneath him and he slumped heavily to the ground.

Before Eddie had realized there was anyone behind him, Clark had raised his hands and nudged him gently in the back. The force with which Eddie had hit the door left a shallow but discernible man-shaped indentation.

Clark reached out and touched the surface now with his fingertips. Lead-lined again? He put his temple to the door and listened. "Lois? Are you in there?"

He heard her voice, faint but steady, "Yeah, it's me."

Relief washed over him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she whispered back, "What about you?"

She sounded genuinely worried. Clark was charmed. "I asked first."

"Hold on a second, I'll open the door."

On the other side, it sounded like she was shifting heavy furniture. He couldn't prevent the grin tugging at his lips. "You just can't keep out of trouble, can you?"

"You know me."

Clark's eyes fell to the man at his feet and caught on the handle of the semi-automatic that was jutting out of a shoulder holster. Lightness left his tone. "I wish you would be more careful."

He could almost see her eyes roll as she chided, "You know, sometimes you sound just like Superman."

Clark smiled. Then the smile froze on his face. Puzzled, he said, "What do you mean?"

"I'm telling you, Clark," came a matter-of-fact, muffled, reply. "Something about the way you turn a phrase. The inherent tut-tutting."

I'm telling you, _Clark_? Clark glanced down, pulled at the S shield. Uh-oh. He pushed his voice up an octave. "Tut-tutting, Lois?" He thought quickly. His Clark-clothes were in a pile behind a dumpster somewhere near that side alley. He eyed the open door at the end of the hallway. Was there time to go, change, get back again? The door handle in front of him was turning. He looked around wildly.

"Oh, yeah." Lois was saying. "That unmistakable air of superiority. And that tone of total disa-" The door opened and the scene before her cut her off mid-flow, "Pproval," she finished weakly. The grin disappeared from her face as her eyes widened. "Woah."

On the floor, at their feet, a man was sprawled. He was at least twice Clark's size, a thick-necked, giant hulk of a man, with forearms the size of hams. He had a gun. And he was out stone-cold. She lifted her eyes to Clark.

"I, uh, surprised him."

"With what?" Lois breathed. "A nine iron?" She was smiling, but she was only half-joking.

Clark made an unconvincing chop-socky hand gesture. "It's all in the technique."

The man on the floor was dressed only in a wifebeater and boxer shorts, while Clark was wearing a different outfit since the last time Lois had seen him. A hawaiian shirt hung off him, all buttoned up, and his pants seemed very baggy. His glasses looked a little different too, they were wire-framed and tinted. She squinted. "Why are you wearing his clothes?"

"Blending in," Clark whispered. "And pretty soon, they're going to miss him." He picked up Lois's hand and made to move, "Let's get out of here."

Lois stood her ground and resisted. "Are you kidding?" She grabbed Clark's hand with both of hers, "Get in here! Quick!" She pulled him back into the dark of the office and shut the door behind them.

"What are you doing?" Clark hissed. "We've got to go!"

Lois was not listening. She was over by a desk, grabbing up sheets of curled paper. "X marks the spot, Clark. Sea charts. Calculations. Directions for the drop! All the evidence we need."

Clark warned, "Lois, I think it's time we got out of here."

She had taken her cell phone out again and was busy sifting through the charts, "And I think it's time you let me concentrate and _chilled out_."

"Really?" Clark replied, peevishly. "'Cause I think it's time we got out of here."

Taken aback by his tone, she met his gaze. Carefully, she said, "And I think it's time you learned to take advantage of an opportunity when it's staring you in the face."

He stared back at her, "And I think it's time you learned the difference between an opportunity and us _making it out of here with our lives_!"

Technically, they were still whispering but their voices were becoming noticeably louder, and strained, "And I think it's time you started behaving less like a screechy ten year old _girl _and more like an actual investigative reporter!"

Clark opened his mouth to respond but suddenly everywhere was bathed in a harsh white light and the door behind him swung open. A new voice, confident and strident, boomed into the room: "And I think it's time you started listening to your partner, Miss Lane."

Clark closed his eyes and cringed. Behind his head there was the unmistakable dull clicking of someone removing a set of safeties. Lois raised her arms and he did too. Turning slowly he found himself looking into the eyes of two men. The first man was grinning delightedly. He had gray hair but he was youngish looking, and dressed sharply, in a well-cut suit. His hands were in his pockets. The second man had a ponytail and was dressed entirely in black. He held a Beretta pistol in each hand, one barrel was aimed at Lois's forehead, the other straight at Clark's.

---

"They seek him here, they seek him there." The gray haired man had taken his hands out of his pockets. Now they were resting, jauntily, on his hips. He regarded his captives appreciatively, like they were the latest additions to a prized art collection. "Lois Lane and Clark Kent. I've heard all about you."

His voice echoed around the large open space of the warehouse forecourt. It was empty now, no sign of any drugs. A row of steel supports inset from the outer walls lined the length of the room. They ran floor to ceiling like fireman's poles, four either side of the room, and spaced evenly about twenty feet apart. Lois and Clark were attached to the first on the left hand side of the warehouse, the one nearest the set of doors that led onto the outer corridor and back outside. Two chairs had been placed back to back, either side of the support. At gunpoint they had been frisked and Lois had been obliged to remove her jacket. Then she and Clark had been invited to sit in the chairs. They had been asked to hold their arms out behind them so that a set of handcuffs could be snapped across their wrists tethering them both separately to the support.

"You're one up on us, then," Lois said. "Do we call you by your full title? Or would you like us to abbreviate? Which do you prefer; 'Scarlet'? Or 'Pimp'?"

The gray-haired man smiled shyly and looked at his shoes. "Ah. My little joke." Flip flopping each hand he said, "French cheese, the Scarlet Pimpernel rescues the French..."

Lois gave him a blank look, "We got it."

He pressed a manicured hand to his chest, "Now that we've met, I think Mr Farlowe will do just fine."

Farlowe. Clark's forehead creased. "Braxton Farlowe. I remember you. The Credit International scandal. You were released last November. I covered the parole hearings."

"I see my reputation precedes me. As yours precedes you."

"Your reputation?" Lois looked skeptical. "A ten year stretch in Metropolis State Prison for embezzling _millions_, and now what? Peddling drugs? That's quite the career trajectory. What's next? Robbing old ladies? Stealing hubcaps?"

The smile on Farlowe's face turned colder. With a crooked finger he lifted up Lois's jacket, holding it upside down. Her dictaphone and cell fell to the floor where they bounced. With the polished toe of his shoe, Farlowe lined them up. "You've got spunk, Miss Lane. I'll give you that. A mutual friend of ours told me all about you. He mentioned that you don't scare too easy." Without any fuss he put his right hand inside his suit and brought out a pearl-handled revolver. Then he aimed a barrage of shots at the equipment, obliterating them. Lois turned away from the bullets and the noise. Afterwards, Farlowe nonchalantly waved the nose of the revolver in the air, "In a way, I expected this. His expression warmed up again. "I'm glad you didn't disappoint me."

"Mutual friend?"

Farlowe regarded Clark. "A former cellmate of mine. How can I put this?" He sighed while he reholstered the gun. "I suppose you could say he's my patron." The idea seemed to amuse him.

"Luthor." Clark said.

Unlike Clark, Lois didn't bother to disguise her contempt. "The man's insane."

Farlowe's eyes flashed. "The man's an inspiration. Since Superman's been in town times are hard for everyone. We all have to pull together, help each other out."

"Heart-warming stuff, I'm sure," Lois sniffed. "But I can't help noticing that here we all are. And there's nothing to corroborate what you say, no chain of evidence implicating the organ grinder." She smiled sweetly; "Only the monkey."

Farlowe looked at her. "You should be glad, Miss Lane, that Mr Luthor's a fan, too. It's why you're not already dead."

The man with the ponytail walked in carrying with him the smell of stale cigarette smoke. "Everything's ready."

"What about at the other end?"

Expressionless, Ponytail nodded at Farlowe.

"Is he awake?"

Ponytail shook his head.

With his hands on his hips again, Farlowe turned back to Lois and Clark. "I'll admit. I was not expecting your snooping to turn so violent." He eyed Clark. "Someone packs quite a punch."

"It's like you said," Clark replied. "She's got spunk."

Farlowe sucked in an admiring breath through closed teeth. "She's got something." He walked right up to them to reach down and stroke Lois's face with the back of his fingers. She didn't flinch but if she could have moved, Lois would have kneed him in the groin. If he could have moved, Clark would have snapped his hand in two. Farlowe said, "You should've stayed away."

"It's the craziest thing. Someone tells me not to look, all I want to do is sneak a peek."

Farlowe bent down on his haunches so that he was face to face with her. "You know what they say about curiosity, don't you, Miss Lane?"

"'Curiosity'?" Lois looked lost. "The Jets song?"

Off to the side, Ponytail failed to appreciate the humor. Without inflection, he said, "It killed the cat."

Lois squinted. "I thought that was quantum theory."

Farlowe leaned closer, his eyes all over her face, intrigued. "You've got a smart mouth for someone in such a vulnerable position. I'd watch it if I were you. It might get you into trouble one of these days." He laughed loudly into the void.

Ponytail's watch bleeped. "Tide's in."

"Well." Farlowe stood up straight and proud, wiping his hands. "This has been fun. And now it's time to part ways."

Lois's voice was soft with wonderment. "You really think you're going to get away with this."

As if waiting for this turn of conversation all along, Farlowe beamed at her. "I wonder what you can possibly mean?"

She opened her mouth. In delight Farlowe blurted, "Superman?" He flipped open his palms. "What do you think this is, Amateur Hour?"

"You tell me." Lois quirked her head at Ponytail, "Chuckles, over here, is the one who left the back door open."

With extravagantly wide steps, Farlowe strode the ten feet or so to the nearest wall. His knuckles rapped against the side of the warehouse. It made a damp, muffled sound. "Heat resistant, lead-lined, sound proof walls, Miss Lane. A LexCorp patent." He clasped his hands together in front of himself. "Help! Superman! Help!"

Lois jutted her jaw. Powerless, Clark's nostrils flared.

"That how it usually goes?" Farlowe smiled. "Knock yourself out, kids." He gestured at Gooch that it was time to leave. Lois and Clark craned their heads left to right, mirroring each other, to track his exit. Full of bonhomie, Farlowe turned back at the double doors to tip a salute at them. "As the French say; adieu!" Then, as if only just remembering, he leaned in back over the threshold. "Oh and uh. By the way." He treated Lois to a self-indulgent once over. "Nice panties."

In his chair, Clark seethed. Farlowe winked. He spun on his heels and left.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel's not French, asshole!" Lois's voice rang uselessly around the cavernous space of the deserted building. One after the other, the florescent strips of light above them were extinguished. They heard footsteps walking away, and themselves being locked in.

Then, silence. Everything was black. They were alone.

**---**

Every so often Clark would tilt slightly to his left and twist his neck so he could check the time on Lois's watch. This way he knew that it was getting on for two in the morning and that they had been trapped here for a couple of hours.

He tried not to move too much because he didn't want to disturb Lois who had skewed herself to her right and was leaning against him as much as the pole between them would allow. He could feel her warmth and the pressure of her head against his shoulder and whilst he would not say he was enjoying himself exactly, the sensation was delightful.

She wasn't asleep. He could tell by her heart rate and breathing rhythm, but they hadn't spoken since the lights had gone out. Clark was hoping she would start to doze off soon because he had already experimented with his super breath and had to nix taking the opposing wall out on account of the fact that there was no way he could avoid making weird blowy noises and arousing suspicion.

Apart from their breathing, the only sound around them was the low mechanical hum of the air conditioning system above.

"Clark?" Lois's voice punctured the silence. It was soft, and a little scratchy.

"Mm?"

"Are you still awake?"

He smiled. "Yes."

She touched her lips together. "You're very quiet."

"So are you."

There was a long pause.

"Are you angry with me?"

Clark frowned. "Why would I be angry with you?"

He heard her expel a long breath. "For ignoring you when you said we should listen to Perry. For ignoring you again when you told me to meet you back at the motel. For lying to your face when I told you I would. And for not listening to you when we had the chance to get out of here and I made you stay."

Clark's eyelids blinked, lazily. "Well, when you put it like that..."

She could detect the smile in his voice and it made her glad. "Clark?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure I can last three days."

Clark's eyes narrowed as he tried to follow her. "What's so special about three days?"

"I saw this thing on tv. Three days is statistically the maximum amount of time the human body can function without water before dehydration sets in."

Clark considered this piece of information, noting, but not voicing, his surprise that it was dehydration and not the far more likely hazard of rats that was top of her priority list. "We're not going to be stuck here three days, Lois."

"How do you know?"

"For one thing, when Perry calls the motel up tomorrow and we're not there, this is the very first place he's going to look."

"I guess," Lois said, sounding measured.

"Right before he fires us."

She chuckled softly. With longing, she gazed ahead, "I could kill for a cigarette, right now."

Clark nearly forgot he was supposed to be wearing restraints and just stopped himself from putting his hands to his hips and ripping the cuffs apart in the process. "I thought you were giving up?"

"I am. I have," Lois bristled. "I keep a small supply for emergencies and extraordinary circumstances. And this," she intoned with precision, "qualifies as one of those."

"A recent AMA study found that regular smokers are at least twice as likely to develop cancer and ischemic heart disease than the general population."

Lois listened to him patiently. "See, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

"What?"

"Right there, just clicking into Superman mode." She leaned in and spoke over her shoulder to him with a mischievous look on her face, "Nag, nag, nag."

Clark allowed himself a smile. "Superman nags?" Interestedly, he said, "How about that."

Lois looked away at the ceiling. "He calls it 'civic concern for my personal health choices'." He could hear the lilt in her voice: "But it's nagging."

To himself, Clark grinned, "I'll try to remember that."

"Anyway," Lois said. "I could quit any time I want."

Clark nodded thoughtfully, "I get it. It's another one of those things where you feel compelled to do the opposite of whatever it is you're told to do. Especially if the thing you're told to do might actually be beneficial to you."

Lois blinked a couple of times. "We've been partners nearly a year; I had no idea you had such a nice line in irony." She turned her head to him again, "I'm seeing a whole other side to you, tonight, Smallville."

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"Still waters run deep, huh? That it?"

"Something like that."

An enjoyable tension was in the air and it lingered as they lapsed into silence. After maybe a minute, Lois called out Clark's name again.

"Yes?"

She licked her lips. "I'm sorry."

Clark raised a concerned eyebrow, "Sorry for what?"

Lois was shaking her head at the ceiling, "For everything. For getting us into this mess." She pressed her lips against her teeth; "And for calling you a screechy ten year old."

For a moment, Clark was quiet. "It was a screechy ten year old _girl, _actually_," _he corrected.

He felt Lois deflate, "I'm trying to apologize, here."

She sounded so sincere. "Okay, now I'm worried," Clark said. "You- apologizing. Things must be serious."

Without any edge, wanting to know the truth, Lois asked, "Aren't you scared?"

"Now? At this moment? No."

It was such an uncomplicated, unClark-like admission, but Lois believed him. "What about when that guy was pointing a gun in your face?"

Instead of answering yes or no, Clark said, "You scare me."

Lois's forehead puckered. "Me?"

"We've been partners nearly a year..." He waited, turned his head to her, "and you still have no idea how I take my coffee."

Lois rolled her eyes at his teasing. "I do, too," she protested.

When she failed to elaborate, Clark prompted, "Well?"

"Black, no sugar," she hedged.

"That's how _you_ take your coffee."

"Yes," she said quickly, "and I'm trying to be a positive influence!"

Now he was shaking his head at her.

"Hey, I know stuff! I know what your favorite pizza topping is?" She squinted. "An Italian Supreme. With extra something." She gave an adorable little gasp of triumph, "Peppers!"

"_Mushrooms._" Clark marvelled, "You don't listen to a word I say."

She scowled. They were quiet again until Clark spoke. Softly, he said, "You should probably be more careful, though."

He heard her sigh. "I know." She shifted a little in her seat. "So how far away do you think they are by now?"

Clark blew out a breath, "Depends on their boat." He bobbed his head side to side. "Say their top speed's eighteen, twenty knots? He did some quick math. They could be anywhere within a four thousand nautical mile radius."

Lois scrunched up one side of her face, "That's a pretty big chunk of sea."

Clark was nodding.

"At least we know which way they're going."

Clark carried on nodding. Then he stopped. "Do we?"

"Well." Lois said. "There was a chart back there. With a destination marked and a set of co-ordinates."

"Co-ordinates?"

"For the drop off," her shoulders twitched, "or an exchange, I guess."

Clark checked, "In the middle of the ocean?"

Lois nodded, "Right." Without pausing she reeled off, "Petroco Eleutherius. Forty, forty-nine, fifty-eight, point six four three nine, North. Sixty-seven, seventeen, zero-seven, point zero nine two zero, West."

Clark's eyelids flickered. "What?"

"That was what was marked down on the chart."

Clark's gaze narrowed in concentration, "I know where that is. The Petroco Eleutherius. It's an abandoned oil rig, about two hundred miles out." Clark was amazed. "You memorized the co-ordinates?"

She shrugged, "I told you, I'm good with names and numbers."

Without affect, Clark said, "You're brilliant."

In the darkness, Lois blushed. "Just don't ask me to spell it."

In his head Clark was already calculating his arrival time. Even if he was trapped here the rest of the night as Clark, as long as Perry had found them by morning he would have the chance to beat Farlowe to the rig, wait for them to show up, and interrupt the drop as it happened.

"Now all we need is Superman."

"Right," Clark agreed, wincing silently.

"I wonder where he is."

"Could be anywhere, I guess."

"I know," Lois mused, taken with the thought. "Anywhere at all. It's kind of incredible, isn't it?"

Clark's lips drew into a line. He drawled, "It sure is."

Lois was looking up, "Out there. Flying around. Keeping watch over everyone."

There was a pause. "Some people more than others."

Lois cocked her head to her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Well. You know," Clark coughed. "It's obvious he really cares about you."

There was a dismissive snort, but Lois didn't resist the shy smile creeping onto her face. "Is it?"

A little less certain, Clark frowned. "Isn't it?"

"I don't know," she breathed. "I don't know how he feels." He felt her shoulders lift. "It's not a conversation we've had."

"Is it a conversation you need to have?"

"You're saying actions speak louder?"

"You said when you need him, he always finds you."

"What does that prove except I can shout the loudest?" she snapped. She screwed her eyes and apologized to him. She tried to explain it. "I mean, God, Clark. Sometimes, he looks at me, and it feels like we're the only two people on Earth." Her eyes were shining. Then a shadow passed over her face and her eyes dulled again. "And the next second he's gone."

Clark's heart ached. "Well, there are a lot of demands on his time, Lois."

"I know," she smiled, "Believe me, I know." She chewed at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "It's more than that. He keeps me at arm's length, I can tell." Almost to herself, she said, "Something's always holding him back."

Clark swallowed. "Maybe he's scared."

"_Superman_? Of what?"

"Of you. Of getting too close. Of not being able to be there for you like," Clark's bottom jaw worked before the words came, "like a normal guy."

"Who wants normal?" Lois demanded. From behind her back her handcuffed hands lifted upwards in quick mitigation, "No offense, Clark."

A rueful, tortured smile formed itself on Clark's face. "None taken."

"He's a man apart, I get it," Lois went on. "I can't believe he thinks that I don't get it." Her voice softened with frustration, "It doesn't stop me wanting to..." Before she articulated the thought, she seemed to remember herself. Embarrassed, she chided, "Geez, listen to me. Going on."

Hanging on her every word, Clark closed his eyes. "I don't mind."

"You're a good guy. A good listener."

Gently, Clark said, "I think this is where I make some crack about being a captive audience."

The atmosphere between them, which had become heavy, lightened and Lois appreciated Clark's hand in it. She told him, in mock pique, "I retract my last statement."

They chuckled. She blew out a quick breath. "Boy, I could use that cigarette."

"It's late. Why don't you try and get some sleep?"

"No, I'm okay." She wriggled her shoulders to loosen them up, looked down at her chest. "I can't get comfortable anyway."

She continued to stare at the gap between her top button and her cleavage.

"Clark?"

"Yes?"

"I may have an idea."

Clark's head turned towards her. "About what?"

"About getting out of here."

"Don't tell me you swallowed the key," he teased.

She laughed nervously. "Not quite." Then Lois said, "You're going to have to take off my bra."

With an amused smile still on his face, Clark's brow lowered. "What?"

More clearly, she repeated, "You're going to have to take off my bra."

There was a beat. "What?"

Her restraints chinked against the pole as she tested them, "I think the cuffs are loose enough. If I slouch right down and press my back hard enough against your hands, you should be able to hitch up my shirt and release the fastener." She stretched her head to him. "It's just a couple of hooks."

Clark's mouth moved wordlessly.

"That ought to be enough to dislodge my pocketknife," Lois continued, going over each step out loud; "if I can shake it into my lap, I can pick it up with my mouth and drop it over my shoulder and into your hands." She was already visualizing freedom. Behind her there was silence while Clark was visualizing something else. "Clark?"

"I'm sorry," he said, having fallen behind. "Dislodge your pocketknife?"

"Right."

He sounded uncertain, "You have a pocketknife. Stashed in your," Lois listened to him struggling on the word, "...bra?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to _shake _it loose and drop it into my hands."

Lois was nodding to herself. "I'm pretty flexible," she told him matter-of-factly. "Then you can unpick my lock." She waited. "What do you think?"

Clark was leaning his head back against the steel cold of the pipe that separated them. "I'm thinking so many things right now."

Her eyes rolled, "I mean do you think you can do it? If the pocketknife hits the floor, I'm not sure we'll be able to pick it up again." She warned, "One shot at this is all we might have."

Lois took the following few seconds as an encouraging sign that Clark was performing a mental run through of the relative merits of her plan.

"...You really have a pocketknife hidden. _In your bra_?"

She sighed. "No," she replied evenly. "I made the whole thing up, just now. I thought this might be a fun way to pass the time."

"Do you always keep one," he asked, a little tightly, "up there?"

Lois scowled, "_Nooo_."

"So tonight was just dumb luck?"

"Are you nuts?" She squeaked, exasperated. "Look, when you're dealing with these kinds of people, you never know. So I always tuck my pocketknife in my bra, just in case." She quirked her head in a satisfied nod to good practice, "A little tip I picked up from my father." Her nose scrunched. "That came out wrong."

"I wouldn't have thought there was that kind of room," Clark was musing, absently.

Her head slumped to one side. Obviously, her partner was having difficulty steering himself away from the minor practicalities. "Can you do it or not?"

Although he was trying his best to ignore them, all kinds of bewitching fantasies kept Clark's voice a little shaky; "Unhook your bra?"

Lois pulled her bound hands tight against the support, "Well, I can't do it myself, can I?"

"I guess not," he conceded.

"Okay then." Lois scooted back so she was sat up straight, flush against the pole and as near as possible to Clark's reach. "Is that close enough?"

It was plenty close. Clark's hands were cuffed on her side of the pole and when he brought them up, had he wanted to he could've laid both his palms flat against her body. As it was, with as much gentlemanly correctness as possible, he found the hem of her shirt and aligned his fingertips underneath it, resting them against the exposed skin just above the line of her pants.

If Lois was expecting his touch to be a little cold, a little unsure and diffident, she was surprised to find that she was wrong on all counts. Clark's hands felt not only steady, but also agreeably hot where the pads of his fingers pressed gently against her. She settled against him. "Ready?"

Clark's throat bobbed. How _in God's good name_ had he allowed tonight to degenerate to this point? "Ready."

Almost before she'd started, Lois stopped, turned her head sideways to address him. "And I can feel _exactly_ what you're doing, so don't get any ideas."

Clark bit his bottom lip. Hard.

"Okay, here we go." Very slowly she began to slide forward on the seat. At the same time, Clark dragged his fingers upwards, underneath her shirt. Following the contour of her body, his hands were deliberate and conscientious, taking care not to lose contact with her skin. He had spread his hands wide to more effectively keep her top hitched out of the way, and they easily spanned her slim waist. His eyes closed as he tried very hard not to think too much about how soft the skin under his touch was. How hopelessly erotic it was to be touching Lois like this.

Keeping her legs out and her knees bent to maintain balance, Lois continued to inch forward in a kind of limbo motion. She could feel her shirt tightening across her chest and more and more of her back being exposed. More than anything, she could feel Clark Kent's hands on her and, despite all logic, she could not deny she was enjoying it. Her skin was goosepimpling where cool night air contrasted with the warmth of his fingertips and as she got lower and his hands moved higher, and closer to the strap of her bra, a shiver ran up her spine and prickled her scalp.

Clark's breathing had become shallow. An intake of breath caught in his throat when his fingers brushed the delicate band of material where skin became silken underthing. _Oh, God._ He could feel the clasp of the bra strap.

With his head swimming, and his mouth dry, he pulled himself back. He choked out, "Oh, hey, I think my cuffs are coming loose."

Lois, now more or less horizontal with most of her bottom half out of her seat, her arms stretched behind her, and her stomach taut and completely bare, zoned in again. "What?"

"I think my cuffs are coming loose."

To the sound of snapping metal, Lois pushed with her thighs to scrabble herself upright.

Behind her, Clark was gabbling, "Must have been rusty or something. Here, let me try yours."

She felt a gentle tug on both her wrists, which was accompanied by another loud snap.

"There! See?"

She moved her arms and her hands came up, free, in front of her face. The cuffs were still on her wrists like matching bracelets. "Oh." Clark had scooted round and was on one knee in front of her. "Thanks." She brought both wrists closer, turning them to inspect where the chain connecting each manacle had broken clean off. In the dim light it was difficult to see. "They don't look rusty..."

"Must be a faulty batch," Clark said. His own handcuffs made a dull tinkling noise on the concrete floor as he threw them away over his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She sensed rather than saw his eyes checking her over and she stopped rubbing at her wrists to self-consciously straighten up her shirt. "Fine." A little stiffly, with his help, she got to her feet. Her eyes lit up, "Superman!" She held Clark at his elbows, "We've got to tell him the co-ordinates!"

"You better get outside and yell." She saw a flash of a smile in the dark, "Really loudly."

She grinned back, "Where are you going?"

Clark thumbed in the direction he was already moving, "I'll head back to the truck and make some calls; make sure the coast guard are ready, and get Jimmy down here."

"I'll meet you on the roof!" Lois stared after him, trying to remember another occasion when she had seen Clark Kent move so fast and not fall over.

---

It was a strange walk through the newsroom on Monday morning. Colleagues kept catching his eye but seemed unsure whether to offer a congratulatory slap on the back or extend a sympathetic hand. Yesterday's front page had ignited public imagination. Lane and Kent had delivered again, and it was becoming a habit. Casting a long shadow over any sense of triumphalism was the fact that to do so, they had defied Perry. And everybody knew it. This time yesterday, rumpled and sleep-deprived, they had handed in their story. Mr White had sent them both home without another word.

Clark arrived at his desk. "Hey."

She looked up. Clear-eyed and without a hair out of place. "Hey."

He hung his coat against the back of his chair, tucked away his briefcase at his feet, quietly took his seat. "How's it looking?"

Her eyes flickered over to the Editor-in-Chief's office, where the blinds had been drawn. "People keep walking past humming the death march." Even as she spoke Jimmy was skimming past chanting something underneath his breath. "Or what they _think_ is the death march." She turned in her chair to call after him, "That's Darth Vader's Imperial theme, Jimmy!"

She faced him again shaking her head. Her expression darkened. "Where have you been, anyway? You were nearly late."

Clark's eyebrows lifted, "I uhh-"

"Oh, here. Your tie."

She got up and came over to his side of the desk, gesturing with one hand for him to stand, which he did. She stood in front of him and fussed at his collar and the knot of his tie until both were straight and to her satisfaction.

He watched her face as she concentrated. "Thanks."

"That's better." Instinctively she ran her hands from his collar down the middle of his chest, smoothing everything away.

Their eyes met and she took her hands back.

"You two! In here." Across the room, Perry was waiting for them outside his door.

Clark swallowed away a breath, Lois straightened her back and squared her shoulders.

---

Brevity, economy, concision. These things were more than just tools of the trade to Perry White, they were the ideals he held dear. They were ideals that marked him out as a fresh-faced rookie, and they were the same ideals he adhered to, a lifetime later, when he invited nervous employees into his office.

It was not in Perry White's nature to sermonize, or to castigate, or to unnecessarily prolong an official reprimand. He was a cajoler, not a ranter.

The other notable thing about Perry White was that he was always prepared to make an exception.

The two reporters in front of him sat, sullen and contrite, as Perry paced the floor behind his desk, working through, in order of importance, the ways in which he felt they had let him down. Words like 'reckless', 'ill-conceived', and 'Goddamned _lucky_' peppered the diatribe at disquietingly frequent intervals.

When he reached the end of the list, he lowered himself into his chair and folded his hands. "Listen to me." He hunched himself closer. "You two are probably the most talented reporters this paper's had. Maybe ever. The potential." He fixed them with a glare in turn. "You're no good to me if you're dead."

Lois and Clark accepted this with heads bowed.

But Perry was not done quite yet. He aimed to finish on a flourish. "However," he intoned weightily. "All that said." His fingers steepled and he tapped them together while Lois and Clark waited. Perry made to say something but an urgent knock on the door interrupted him.

Jimmy's head poked into view, "Chief-"

Perry blinked. "I'm busy, Jimmy."

"I know. But you've got to check out the tv."

"Jimmy!"

Before Perry could say anything else, the young man had crossed the room and reached up to the flatscreen in the corner. A news report blinked into life. The four of them listened as the pictures showed Superman shaking hands with the assistant DA on the steps of police headquarters,

"_...just a half hour ago. It is reported that Superman picked up the second crew after handing over the first crew to the Attorney General's task force in the early hours of Sunday morning. Mr Farlowe, and those accused of being his accomplices, were caught following an investigation carried out by the city's own _Daily Planet_. The traffickers have been charged in a twenty-three count indictment including conspiracy, possession, and the exportation of large quantities of cocaine. The haul is estimated to have a street value of over _two hundred million _dollars. _

_The assistant DA was reluctant to comment on the suggestion of a link between Mr Farlowe and his former cellmate, the disgraced business magnate, Lex Luthor-"_

Perry zapped the screen off and laid the remote back down. Lois and Clark gazed back at him with expectant faces. He sighed. "What I was going to say was, despite the fact that you disobeyed an _extremely_ specific instruction, and despite the fact that you deliberately put yourselves in the way of danger," Perry pressed his lips into a line. "I'm incredibly proud."

He watched a mixture of relief and humility break across their expressions. Almost immediately he switched back into his usual groove. "You can leave now." He sniffed, picking up some papers, "I don't pay you to sit around looking pleased with yourselves."

Silently they rose to their feet. Clark got as far as putting his hand on the door handle before Perry added, "And if you ever do something like this again, you'll be out of my building so fast, Superman couldn't keep up with you."

Perry watched them leave. He didn't realize Jimmy was still in the room until a voice behind him said, "Has that threat ever actually worked on those two?"

As an answer, Perry gruffed, "They're both still here, aren't they?"

Jimmy skewed his lips, nodding slowly. After a pause, he said, "Do you think it ever will?"

Perry was already busy reading something else. "Probably not."

---

They slumped back into their seats. Lois rotated her chair back round with just her heels. They looked at each other. She moved only her shoulders. "I thought that went well."

It made him laugh, and it felt like a release. He shook his head, a haunted expression on his face. "What a couple of days."

She put both hands to her eyes, wiped them to her cheeks, "I can't believe it's only Monday morning."

"Did you manage to get some sleep?"

She snorted. "I crawled into bed the second I got home. My head hit the pillow and I woke up twenty hours later with this morning's alarm."

He grinned. "A little, then."

She swished a hand through the air. "A double shot of expresso and I'll be operating at maximum capacity, don't worry about it."

They smiled at each other for long enough to make it awkward.

"Speaking of which." Lois brushed at a non-existent strand of hair while her eyes searched her desk, "My guy finally faxed through the paperwork on that waste management site." She found the print outs she was looking for and held them up. "Looks interesting. You want in?"

Clark checked his wrist. "I can't. I have a nine thirty with a Doctor..." he frowned, flipping open a note pad, "Levin. At Metropolis Zoo."

She couldn't resist. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

He ignored her smirk and the sparkle in her eyes. "I believe we'll be discussing the nutritional merits of bamboo shoots."

She lifted her chin, "The baby pandas piece." She watched him get up, shrug on his coat, upturn the collar. "Right." She lifted her thumbs off the desk, "Well, your thing sounds way more fun."

He raised an eyebrow to her. "I'll see you later."

He hadn't taken more than a few steps before Lois rose out of her seat and called him back. "Hey, Clark, wait."

He shuffled back to his desk.

She ran a fingernail in a line along the edge of her desk. "I don't think I ever said thankyou." She looked up. "For Saturday night." She hesitated. "You said that Superman always finds me." A tentative smile played at one corner of her mouth, "But you did." The center of her eyebrows creased. "You rescued me."

Clark was quiet. "Are you feeling okay?"

Lois's expression clouded. "Yeah. Why?"

"An apology, and now a thankyou." Clark quirked his head while touching his thumb and forefinger to the corner of his glasses. "Someone better check with the weather service. I think hell might've frozen over."

She raised her palms at him. "Mock me. Mock away. I am unbowed by your sarcasm." She pointed, eyes narrowed, "And by the way? I've decided that I'm not sure I like this cynical side of you, Smallville."

Clark stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders forward. "I think what you're trying to say is- you owe me."

Looking off to one side, Lois breezed, "I'm not sure that is what I'm trying to say."

Clark smiled. He rocked on his heels. "But you do owe me dinner."

Amused, Lois's eyelids flickered. "Do I?"

He nodded. "Pizza from Pepe's. The Italian Supreme?"

She folded her arms, an irresistible smile dimpling her face. It was like watching the sun come up. "Extra peppers."

He returned her steady gaze. "Mushrooms."

Lois dipped her head. "You know something? I'd really like that." Her fingertips played at the desk. "I have plans, tonight." She shrugged, "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Plans?" Clark said. "Anything special?"

One shoulder twitched. "Not really."

There was a beat before their eyes met. "I can't make tonight either, actually," he admitted. "But um." Something crossed his face, "I hope you two have a good evening."

With pursed lips, she tilted her head at him. She could tell he was fighting a cocky little smile.

Before he left, he told her, "I'll see you later."

**---**

For about the fortieth time in the last ten minutes Lois set about performing an identical and systematic succession of tasks. She darted from the terrace to the kitchen, then she pulled on a pair of quilted gloves, opened the oven door and poked at two sirloin steaks with a skewer. Then she pulled off the gloves, skipped through to her bedroom, glanced over her reflection, gathered her hair up, took a moment, let it fall around her shoulders again, took another moment, readjusted her dress, skipped back out on to the terrace, and nudged a burning candle one inch to the right. After stepping back to test the overall effect, as an artist might step away from the easel, she changed her mind and nudged the same candlestick one inch to the left. She was ready to begin the whole enterprise again when a disturbance of air behind her forced her to stop.

She could see him, handsome and tall, in the glass of her windows. "Good evening, Lois."

She turned around, willing her heart slow down. "Hey."

Clark hopped off the corner of the terrace ledge to come closer and felt an undercurrent of desire ripple through him. A black cocktail dress flowed down the lines of her body to her knees revealing bare shoulders and the exquisite sweep of her neck to the balmy evening air. Her dark eyes sparkled with light. She was unbearably beautiful. He said, "I hope I'm not too early?"

"You're right on time, actually," she assured him. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Me too." His eyes swept over the beautifully laid table she had set. "Wow."

Lois gave a self-deprecating sniff as she followed the direction of his gaze. As if surprised by what she saw, she waved a hand, "Oh, this? Just something I threw together."

His brow furrowed in seriousness. "I hope you didn't go to any trouble?"

She waved his concern away. "Hey, I saw the news this morning." A slow burning smile curled up one corner of her mouth. "Great job with the bad guys."

He returned the smile. "Thankyou. And ditto." His head bowed before he stepped closer and found her eyes again. "I, uh, couldn't have done it without you. Even if your methods," he glanced off to the side, picking his words, "sometimes leave something to be desired." Off her look, he apologized, but not entirely sincerely, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to nag."

"Did you see the article, yesterday?"

He nodded, grinning. "I especially enjoyed the line about the cheesemakers."

Lois chuckled. "That was Jimmy's idea. I'll have to tell him."

Superman nodded and they found themselves staring at each other. Breathing and staring. His eyes were such an impossible shade of blue. A little flustered, Lois lifted her hand to her shoulder to gesture behind her and absently left her fingertips there, touching her collar bone. "Well. Dinner's nearly ready."

"It smells great."

"It's my own special recipe," Lois breathed. Then she felt her cheeks burning, she stuttered, "Um..."

She watched a look of mischief pass over his face as he studied her. "You're blushing."

The air around them felt charged. She fixed her eyes on his. "Yes." She swallowed. "You're staring at my lips."

He nudged forward, closing the gap between them. The smile faded from his face. "Yes."

She seemed to sway and he heard her whimper, "Superman."

He reached up to touch his fingers to the side of her face, to stroke away a wisp of hair. "Lois."

She was electrified by him. Every part of her. She closed her eyes. "I love the way you say my name."

He couldn't take his eyes off her. "There's something I want you to know." He brought his other hand up so that he cupped her face. His thumbs stroked the line of her jaw. They stared at each other. It was as if he was waiting for her permission. He started to bend forward. Her chin lifted, their eyelids fluttered closed. He felt her fingertips come up, brush against the bulge of his biceps before they came to rest on his shoulders, felt her breath on his as their mouths opened, searching for each other.

He leaned in. Then, with the tips of their noses touching, he stopped. He made a noise, a sigh of frustration. "Someone wants me."

Lois thought he was joking. She smiled and gave a lazy, throaty, laugh, nudging his nose with hers.

"They're calling me."

Lois blinked her eyes open, "Oh." Immediately she sobered, straightened, stepped away from him. "Of course."

Clark's heart sank. She was no more than a pace apart but it felt like a chasm had opened up. "A stolen car."

Not quite sure what to do with her hands anymore, Lois ended up placing them flat to the small of her back. "You better go."

They looked at each other. Unspoken things passed between them.

He shook his head sadly, gestured at the empty dinner plates and wine glasses. "I'm sorry you went to all this trouble."

"Trouble? This?" She made a face. "It's nothing." But Clark heard the snag in her voice.

He stepped towards her with a serious expression on his face. "No, it's not nothing." He bobbed his head. "I just wanted to tell you." He searched out her eyes. "I just wanted to tell you. I appreciate it. Everything. This." His bottom jaw moved. "You." He burned for her. "Just in case there were any doubts about that."

Lois gave him a lopsided grin that said, 'It's okay, I understand.' "I guess I'll see you next time."

She watched the familiar smile win out. The one from the newspapers and tv pictures, and it hurt like hell. Stoic and inscrutable. On the brink of gaining something, it was as if she'd had something torn away from her instead, and she felt it's loss keenly.

"Next time." There was a slight bend of his knees before another rush of air and he was gone, like he had never been there at all.

With her hands on her waist she let out a steady lungful of breath from between a small gap in her lips.

She trudged over to collect everything away. She lay one clean plate on top of the other and blew out the candles. She stopped what she was doing to balance herself on the table. After a few second's pause she began to clear up again, except much more quickly.

She hurried inside to turn off the oven and put on a coat. Then she was going over to Pepe's to order some pizza. And then she was going to deliver it.


End file.
